The television in the living room hangs on the wall opposite the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out on the backyard. All evening the dog sits alert in his usual place by window, watching the security-lit backyard with far greater intensity than his owner ever watches Jon Stewart on the opposite wall. Several times every hour, the dog tenses and points and they turn away from the television to see who it is this time: the rabbits again? That old raccoon? A possum? Or is it that pair of red foxes we all watched without breathing that one winter night?

The possum loves to pass right under his nose, and the dog barks savagely. Are they out there just to taunt his instinct? Is this a show for him, a soap opera of courtship and hunger? Or is this just what happens every night, everywhere?

All day long, the squirrels alone taunt the neighborhood dogs. But every night there is a Disney movie in our backyard.